


Castor's Grudge

by ReaperShadCat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperShadCat/pseuds/ReaperShadCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco's life was fine before Jean showed up. And it will go fine after Jean shows up. And long after Jean goes away and leaves him alone - Marco is sure of it.</p>
<p>Jean, on the other hand, has no idea why Marco keeps avoiding him, but he's not about to give up on becoming friends with him just yet.</p>
<p>And that's what Marco is afraid of.</p>
<p>(A reincarnation AU with a bit of a twist from what I'm used to seeing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jean Makes A Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlexSonata](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexSonata/gifts).



> Wow, another Jeanmarco fic from me, what the hell. And in chapters, too! 
> 
> I have a plan for this fic, but I'm not entirely sure where to go with it, so I'm rolling along and we'll go where it goes, I suppose! I have a definite ending in mind, though, as well as specific plot points, so you'll have to stick around to see what's up... and I hope you enjoy it along the way. ;)

Jean slammed his door closed, careful not to drop the bag of fresh Mediterranean food he'd plucked from the passenger seat. He jogged up to the door of the baby-blue house he'd parked in front of, humming an upbeat video game tune while knocking loudly on the door and dropping off the meal to its inhabitants as soon as they forked over the required cash. He wiped his hands on his black work pants and popped back into his car, breathing in the scrumptious scents of cucumber and lamb meat, checking in his mirror to make sure his hair looked nice before he drove back to the restaurant.

He was doing pretty well, he thought, for his first week - he was a hard worker, and even though he avoided most employees at past jobs, this one seemed friendly and open and he felt right at home with the crew.

That, and he was kinda crushing on the head chef.

The head chef was a tall, dark-haired young man, and though Jean hadn't gotten a good look at his eyes, he had noticed a spread of dark speckles on the man's cheeks, and dotting lightly along the rest of his face. The man was strong and clearly rather muscular, and Jean wasn't sure if that was due to stressful kitchen work or due to personal fitness, but either way, his strength was packed tight on his body in a way that displayed his musculature fully only when he moved in certain ways. It was probably a soft sort of strong, Jean mused.

He shook his head and blushed furiously, realizing he had been sitting in a stranger's driveway for a few minutes thinking of a man whose name he didn't even know yet.

"Dammit Kirschtein," he mumbled to himself, quickly clicking his car into gear and heading back to the restaurant.

It wasn't too busy that day. Around lunch, a small gaggle of college-age students piled in, but other than that, it was just a little too chilly still for people to start showing up in droves. He'd been a patron of the place for years before working there, and he knew summers were hell for the staff - part of why he was hired, since there were only two other delivery workers, one of whom had a nasty temper when it came to being bossed around and the other skipping work fairly often due to panic attacks and doctors' visits (which Jean was pretty sure had at least something to do with the other delivery guy.)

Jean hasn't noticed that he had been idling around until the head chef gave a shrill whistle and handed him a box with a printed address on top. "This one's yours," he mumbled, before hurrying back to the kitchen, avoiding eye contact completely.

With a sigh, Jean collected himself and headed back out the employee exit to his car, stopping to take a peek at the address.

"Frickin' really?" He mumbled, gawking at the address. Did they even technically DO deliveries this far away? It had to be at least a thirty minute drive, and more than that if any winding country roads were involved. He sighed, resigning to his fate. After all, he'd taken this job fully expecting to be swamped with work, not to flirt with some freckled bastard working the gyro meat in the back of the building. Romantic endeavors would have to wait until he was off of work.

To Jean's dismay, the freckled chef had left the moment the restaurant closed, and the only person that still lingered was the nervous delivery boy, wandering around and gently placing chairs and tables back where they needed to be and wiping off any dirt or food gunk.

"Hey," Jean started, waving him down, flashing one of his signature heart-melting smiles that more than one person had told him made him look like a douche. It was the quickest way of getting people to notice him, though, douche or not.

The cleaning boy jumped at the sound of an unfamiliar voice and turned around, his tension fading a little when the potential threat was considerably shorter and scrawnier than him.

"Hey," Jean said again, keeping up his smile. "Everyone booked it after closing, huh?"

"Yeah," the guy said, nervously rubbing a cloth along a nearby chair. "It's okay, though. I'm paid to clean up, so it's not like anyone else really needs to be here."

"I thought you were delivery?" Jean wondered, raising an eyebrow.

"Used to be, but I can't any more. I'm on new meds, and I'm not allowed to drive, so... So I clean now." He stopped for a moment, bowing his head in embarrassment. "Sorry, they must have upped your workload because of me..."

"Nah, don't sweat it, big guy. I can handle it. Driving is fun!"

"If you say so," the man said, glancing around at the place to make sure he'd gotten everything. "I hate it, but I guess that's why you're a delivery guy and not me, huh? Anyways, uh, I should wait outside for my ride to show up."

Jean perked up. "Want me to wait with you? I was just about to leave."

"Sure, if you want!"

The man went to go put his cleaning rag into a pile of objects to wash the next morning, stopping in the doorway and turning around to face Jean. "Um, I'm Bertholdt, by the way," he said, nodding as if to assure himself that yes, that was his name. "You can call me Bertl, though, everyone does. Bertholdt is too foreign."

"Jean Kirschtein," Jean said with a grin. "I get you on the name thing. I don't think people bother trying to pronounce either 'Jean' or 'Kirschtein' right half of the time."

The two of them waited in front of the restaurant, Jean rubbing his arms in the cold and marveling over how Bertl didn't seem cold at all. It was definitely not short sleeve weather like their uniform demanded, but the tall guy didn't seem to mind, shrugging every time Jean mentioned the cold.

"So, who's picking you up?" He mused, trying to distract himself from the cold.

"My, uh, fiancé is," Bertholdt muttered, twiddling his thumbs.

"What a surprise! Mister tall, dark, and handsome isn't a stranger to love! What's she like? Is she nice?"

"He's really nice," Bertl mumbled almost inaudibly.

"Oh," Jean said, sitting up a bit. "Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"Nah, it's all right. People say I don't seem the type, so I get that a lot..."

Jean snorted. "People say -I- don't seem the type either, and I'm like, what does that even mean? What type is Gay Type? I don't remember that in the last Pokemon game."

Bertholdt snorted suddenly, bringing his hand up to his face to stifle a chuckle that wouldn't stop. Jean ended up laughing along with him, and the two of them snickered until a car pulled up and Bertholdt had to leave.

"Thanks for the chat, Jean!" Bertholdt said, gathering himself as he prepared to leave. "You're a fun guy. You should come over some time!"

"Yeah, that would be cool," Jean agreed, waving to the man driving the car, who gave him a big grin and a wave.

"Oh!" Jean remembered. Bertholdt looked at him curiously, and Jean was suddenly self-conscious, hoping he would be innocuous in what he was about to ask. "Uh, do you know the head chef's name? The freckly guy who gives out deliveries?"

Bertholdt's expression soured a little, and Jean panicked for a moment. "Is... Is something wrong?"

Bertl shrugged and shook his head, grinning almost sadly. "His name's Marco, but, uh..." He looked around shiftily as if expecting to be spied on. "You didn't hear this from me, but he's really, really antisocial, and supposedly he gets pretty snippy when he wants to be left alone. I keep trying to invite him over, but he always gives me this weird look like I'm trying to trick him or something."

Jean bit his lip. "I guess trying to be friends is gonna take some work, then, huh?"

"Probably," Bertl said, rocking on his heels. "But you know what? I think you can do it. Look at us!" He gestured to the space between himself and Jean, grinning again. "I don't make friends very easily, but you sweet-talked me into wanting to invite you over already. I think if anyone can be Marco's friend, you can. You're good at making people open up, I think."

"Thanks," Jean said with a smile. "I'll remember that."

Bertholdt headed out, smiling at him from the passenger seat as he spoke to the guy in the driver's seat, who seemed excited to hear the other's stories, most likely about how he and Jean hit it off well. Jean watched them drive away and headed back to his own car, sitting for a moment behind the wheel and enjoying his heater.

"If anyone can do it, it's you, Jean," he muttered to himself, adjusting his mirror to the right angle. "If anyone can be Marco's friend, it's you."


	2. The Plan Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean gets picked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter on Wednesday and then spent Thursday re-writing it because it was horrible. I have it to (mostly) where I like it now, even though I think the beginning is a bit bumpy, hhhuerhj enjoy tho

"You know, Marco, I think the new delivery boy wants to talk to you..." 

Marco huffed, shoving a few boxes of stuffed grape leaves into a plastic bag and practically running Bertholdt over on his way to unceremoniously thrust the bag into Jean's hand and gesture for him to leave. As soon as he was gone, Marco tuned to glare at Bertholdt, eyes glinting with caution. "Don't talk to me, please. And don't tell me to talk to him. He's nothing but a walking disaster waiting to happen, and I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole."

Bertholdt backed up a pace, putting his hands up as if Marco was holding a gun up to his forehead. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking away. "I just wanted to let you know."

Marco sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "...I didn't mean to snap. This week is just..."

"Stressful?"

"The most stressful week of my whole life, pretty much, no thanks to you and disaster boy."

"Can I make it up to you somehow?" Bertholdt wondered, grinning nervously, sweat already starting to roll off his cheeks.

"Just... please leave me be, all right?" Marco said, his voice softening. 

Bertholdt nodded and left Marco to his devices, instead opting to drone around the food stores to clean up what he could. Ever since his discussion with Jean, his mind had been racing. Jean was quick-witted and easy to speak to, and he couldn't stop mulling over why on earth Marco was so adamant that Jean couldn't be trusted. Did they know each other? Did Jean commit some atrocity in the past to warrant Marco's eternal scorn?

In truth, while Marco could be a bit scary and snippy, Bertholdt could tell that his irritability was due to something else. Back when Marco had started working there and Bertl was the only delivery boy, he'd been cheery and bright, if a bit hesitant and shy around Bertl himself. He'd assumed it was because of his unsettling height, but whatever the reason, Marco distanced himself from Bertholdt.

And then the other delivery boy started, and everything went to hell.

Eren Jaeger was a nice enough kid, at least, while he was calm. The moment someone gave him lip, though, he would give it right back, which tended to end in him complaining loudly in the middle of the restaurant about deliveries. It was an absolute wonder the kid hadn't been fired yet. Then again, he was the owner's son, and the man never seemed to be around to reprimand his ornery spawn. That, and Jaeger seemed to get more and more on edge as the days ticked by, but luckily he had calmed down over the past few days, most likely because Jean was taking the deliveries that Eren had whined about the most.

Eren wasn't there that day. He, unlike Bertholdt or Jean, was a high schooler, which meant he scheduled evenings on less busy schooldays like Monday and Wednesday. It was Thursday, easily Bertholdt's favorite day of the week - almost to the end, but still calm enough to sit quietly and revel in the slowing work atmosphere. Thursdays were reassuring.

"I hate Thursdays," Jean mumbled, stumbling into the food storage to look for something. "The road's stupid busy today, man."

"Oh? Usually it's pretty clear on Thursdays. Maybe an accident?"

"Maybe," Jean replied. He made a face of confusion and leaned against a shelf, crossing one leg over the other and trying to look chill. "So, Bertl... what's up this weekend?"

Bertholdt perked up instantly, a small smile growing on his face. "This weekend? Nothing, really. Did you want to hang out?"

"That would be great," Jean said with a smirk. 

"Saturday?" 

"Saturday sounds good to me."

Friday came and went without much friction, though not without Jean pouting every time Marco told him to do something, and Marco in turn became quicker to give him deliveries and leave, going so far even as to hand them to Jean as he rushed past, leaving the delivery boy confused momentarily at the fact there was suddenly food in his hands. Needless to say, he hadn't gotten anywhere on the 'befriend Marco' front, and he was getting frustrated with trying to find an opening to speak with the guy.

And then Saturday rolled around. Jean got up uncharacteristically early, cooked himself a large breakfast to stay awake, took way too long of a shower, and was ready to go a whole hour before Bertholdt had said to be ready.

Jean laid on the couch and stared up at his ceiling and the cracks in the paint on his walls, sighing. The week had gone quickly, and he'd gotten along with everyone, aside from the other delivery guy and Marco, of course. But even with their attitudes towards him, he felt surprisingly at home at his new job. Maybe it was the fact that he'd made a new friend so easily or that his work was the kind of work he enjoyed, or maybe it was the fact that everyone he worked with was a piece of eye candy...

Sure, some of them were definitely not traditionally beautiful, but they all had a strange charm to them that made them fun to watch. Bertholdt was tall and lanky, and he walked about with a soft gait that made little sound, which had accounted for him scaring people on accident before. Eren, the other delivery boy, while annoying to hear complain about work, always seemed to have a sense of great purpose about him that made him move and act with vigor. His actions were contrary to his words, and his reluctance to work seemed to melt away into energy the moment he actually got off his ass.

Marco was an anomaly. Jean hadn't gotten a chance to really watch him work, but he always seemed to be careful. Careful about where he walked, careful about who he talked to and about what, careful not to let his expression betray any emotion he might be hiding. He seemed to be hiding inside himself - if everyone else let themselves bubble to the surface, Marco kept himself at least six inches below, and it annoyed Jean like no other. He wanted to understand, wanted to know what it would take to draw the real Marco to the surface.

He rolled onto his side, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why did he care? He'd only talked to the guy maybe twice, and here he was, deliberating on how to make him open up. He wanted desperately to be Marco's friend, and part of him thought that maybe, just maybe, he was being a bit of a creep, thinking about Marco as often as he did.

Thinking about Marco, about how his freckles were most intense on his cheeks, but spilled over his nose and even onto his chin and down his neck ever so slightly. Marco, taller than Jean but not so tall that Jean wouldn't be able to lean and meet his gaze, to inch forward and press his lips up to Marco's cheek, to his nose, to his mouth, how easy it would be to run a hand up his neck and into that short, thick hair always parted perfectly down the middle and hold on as the two of them moved closer, as Marco pinned Jean down, straddled his hips...

"Shit, shit.." Jean mumbled, rolling around on the couch, trying to calm himself down. He was trash, absolute trash, daydreaming about a coworker who had only ever spoken to him for business reasons riding his lap like it was a rodeo. "Disgusting," he murmured, hiding his face into a couch cushion.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

"Coming!" He shouted, collecting his things and hurrying to open the door to a nervous-looking Bertl and his fiancé, who seemed glad to see him.

"Sorry about that. Let's go!" Jean said, shutting and locking the door behind him. "What are you sorry for..?" Bertholdt wondered behind him, shaking his head.

"Hey, Jean, come back!" Bertl yelled before Jean got too far, and he spun around and raised an eyebrow, trying to hide his less-than-innocent expression from before. "What?"

"You haven't met Reiner properly yet!"

Right, that would probably be a good thing, Jean figured. "I'm Jean," he said with a grin, putting his hands on his hips and nodding.

"I'm Reiner," Reiner said with a wave, as if he hadn't already kind of been introduced by Bertholdt. "Where are we all going, by the way? Back to our place?"

Jean hummed in agreement. "I need a getaway that doesn't involve people," he mumbled, slowing down for the two to catch up. "You guys are fine, though. Thanks for inviting me over, by the way."

"Yeah, no problem!" Bertholdt said, looking at his hands and grinning a little. "Reiner really wanted to meet you, and we figured you could use some fun after your first week."

"That's for sure," Jean said, rolling his eyes as they approached Reiner's car and piled in. Jean stared out the window most of the way, Bertl and Reiner chatting with each other as Reiner drove. 

Jean didn't pay much attention to the drive, his mind still in other places. Eventually, Bertholdt noticed.

"Jean," he said, turning around in his seat a bit to look at him. "Are you okay? You look worn out."

"Yeah," Jean said, sniffing and lifting his head off the window he had been looking out of, brushing a hand nervously through his hair. "I woke up way too early, and it's messing with me."

"You the type of guy who sleeps until noon if he can?" Reiner asked, glancing momentarily at his rear view mirror to see Jean's tired face.

"Oh yeah," Jean said, smirking. "Even noon is pretty early for me." He shrugged. "I should try to work on making my sleep schedule less shitty, though, huh? Waking up early for the restaurant isn't fun when you wanna stay up late."

"Oh yeah, definitely," Bertl agreed. "I have pretty bad insomnia, and it's messed me up in the past. It's gotten a lot better with my new meds, though. Not completely better, but enough that sleeping is possible and kind of nice, and that's the important part, you know?"

"And I get to drive you everywhere," Reiner added.

Jean bit his lip. "I used to have insomnia too, when I was little, but it was just one of those things that happens to you as a kid and goes away."

Bertholdt furrowed his eyebrows together in confusion. "I didn't think you could outgrow it," he mused, "but I guess I'm not a doctor, so I wouldn't know." He shrugged and waved it off, deciding it wasn't something he'd figure out.

"So... whatcha daydreaming about back there, huh?" Reiner said in a singsong voice, and Jean felt his face turn bright red against his volition.

"Ah, you know... work and stuff."

"Work and stuff, oh yea. That's the stuff of dreams."

"Reiner!" Bertholdt said, shooting him a worried look. "Don't embarrass him."

"Sorry, sorry," Reiner said with a smirk, "but hey, we don't mind hearing whatever it is you're thinking about. We can handle it."

Jean sighed, turning his gaze back out the window. "It's stupid. It's stupid and I'm stupid for thinking about it so much. I just..."

He stared at the cars passing by, the trees beginning to bud their branches again, a soft sprinkle frosting the edges of windows and doors and dewing up plants and blades of grass. "I just can't stop worrying about... about making friends," he mumbled. 

"Thinking about Marco again?" Bertholdt mused, smiling cheekily.

"What?" Jean snapped all too quickly. "What makes you think that?"

"Just wondering. You keep trying to talk to him, I know you do. I know I shouldn't get involved, but every time he blows you off it makes me sad..."

"You and me both," Jean sighed. "He's probably just the all-work-and-no-play type of guy when he's working, though."

"I wonder," Bertholdt said, humming. "I know he hasn't been too talkative to me after work before, and I don't think he trusts me, but I'm not too great at starting conversations with strangers, either, so there's that."

"Hey, why don't you invite him to something, like, formal?" Reiner suggested.

"Formal? Like what?" Jean wondered with a squint.

"Like... a party!"

"Do you think he'd come to my birthday party? Maybe if I invite everyone from work?"

Bertholdt looked surprised. "Is it soon?"

"April seventh," Jean said, biting his lip in thought. "Next week. That's kind of short notice to prep a party and invite everybody."

"You kidding me?" Reiner laughed. "That's plenty of time. Leave it to us, man, we'll get it all in order."

"You guys are seriously too nice to me for having met me half a week ago," Jean said with a small grin.

"Probably," Bertholdt said, "but you're easy to get along with. It feels like I've known you for ages, honestly."

"Yeah," Reiner added. "Bertl keeps telling me how weird it is, too. He's not comfortable around people very often."

"I think... You're like me, so you understand me. Not to say you aren't a tough guy or strong or anything, but I feel like you're kinda like me, so you understand better than most people," Bertholdt agreed.

Jean squinted. "Have you told me that before? Not in those exact words, but..."

"I don't think so," Bertl shrugged. "Maybe someone else told you something similar before? I wouldn't be surprised if they have."

"Yeah," Jean said, resting back on his seat. "Yeah, I think someone told me I'd be a good leader once. Maybe that's what I'm thinking of."

"You should become a manager," Bertl said with a chuckle. "That's a pretty leaderly position."

"Nah, too boring," Jean said, staring back out the window. "And I don't think that was what they meant."

"Ah well," Bertl shrugged. "Memory can be tricky like that sometimes."

Jean sighed. "I just wish I knew who told me."


	3. An Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean and Bertholdt make plans and not everything goes according to them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit, ~plot~ happens in this chapter. Also, it's kinda long?? Or at least it seems like it.
> 
> Next chapter should be a fun one, so look forward to it :}

Jean twiddled his thumbs impatiently as he sat on Bertholdt and Reiner's tiny couch in front of a fairly large coffee table, the two of them shuffling around various areas of their house searching through boxes and shelves. They'd ordered Jean to stay put, and he'd reluctantly complied as the two of them went off to begin their search.

Bertholdt came back with a box full of various blank cards and envelopes, and Reiner had collected a number of brochures and books, all of which appeared to be directories.

"Here's the thing, Jean," Bertholdt began, producing a list of their coworkers and their numbers, "Reiner is the king of planning, hands down. If you think a week isn't enough time to get something together, you've never seen him plan anything."

"Well," Reiner said with a smile, "The biggest problem you'll have is getting invites out as fast as possible, but as soon as we get enough details, that won't be a problem."

"Right," Jean said, eyeing Bertholdt's list. "Where'd you get that, anyways?"

"Huh? Oh, well... Grisha gives me a list like this every once in a while so that if I need to contact someone in an emergency, I can," Bertl said. "If you need one, you can talk to him."

"Who the heck is Grisha?" Jean wondered, taking the list from Bertl and squinting at it.

"Oh, it's Mr. Jaeger's first name," Bertholdt said. "I've been friends with him for a while, sorry. I always forget he doesn't really use his first name much."

Reiner dropped a large book on the table and flipped to a page covered in numbers. "What's up with that?" Jean wondered as Reiner hovered over one of them, looking contemplative as he read.

"He's trying to find a venue," Bertholdt said, shuffling over to read with him. "Here," he pointed, "that one looks good!"

"That one's only available for a three-day rent, though. We need one that can be rented for one, and there's only a few of those," Reiner said as he looked through them. "Jean, do you want a DJ?"

"What?" Jean said, his eyebrows furrowed. "Dude, it's a birthday party, not a wedding reception."

"Hm, yeah, sorry. I was looking too big, then. Maybe we should reserve part of a restaurant?" 

"Maybe.... Chinese?" Jean said, shrugging. 

"What do you mean 'maybe' for? It's your birthday. If you want Chinese, we're goin' Chinese," Reiner said, flipping a phone book open instead.  
"Ohh, I know! What if we reserve a buffet hall?"

"Uhh, yeah?" Jean said, grinning. "I think that would be the best birthday ever."

"Well, good, because that's what you're getting," Reiner said with a smile. 

Jean grinned like an idiot the entire time Reiner spent reserving the buffet over the phone, Bertl laughing at him and receiving a soft punch on the shoulder because of it.

"All right," Reiner said, hanging up finally. "Saturday from five in the evening until midnight. The party doesn't have to be that whole time, but that's what we've got."

"How much is it?" Jean said, reaching for his wallet, only to have his hand swatted away.

"Birthday boys don't pay," Bertholdt said, preventing Jean from trying to get at his wallet. 

"Really?"

"Really," Bertholdt said with a smile.

"You guys are way too nice," Jean said with a huff.

"Don't say that until we're done here," Bertl said, dumping his card box on the table. "We still have at least twenty of these to make."

"What's so bad about cards?" Jean said, picking one up and turning it over in his hands.

It turned out that EVERYTHING was bad about cards. They needed twenty that looked vaguely birthday-invitation-esque, and finding them was hectic, with Jean accidentally stealing some out of the pile Bertholdt had already collected, Bertholdt sneezing and knocking a bunch of cards on the floor in an attempt to turn and not sneeze on them (or Jean for that matter,) Reiner coming in to bring them food and them forgetting which pile of cards was which after they'd eaten, and having to write down everyone's name and the party info without mistakes. Jean messed up some of the names ("The hell kind of name is Artlet?" "It's Arlert... He's in sales.") and had to rewrite them, and they had to find envelopes for each and write the names the right way AGAIN on those, but finally, they finished.

On Monday, they handed them out, and Jean was glad to get them off his hands. He and Bertholdt split up to hand them out based on who all they tended to see throughout the day. Christa and Sasha, two of the chefs, agreed to go; Connie, the cashier, the Artlet-Arlert guy from sales, and a number of other various coworkers all agreed, and Jean realized he was down to two invitations, both of which made him nervous: Marco and Eren.

Jean decided to try Marco first, assuming that would be the path of least resistance. Sure, Marco avoided him as much as humanly possible, but the other option involved shouting and angry teenagers, so Jean figured Marco to be the lesser of two evils.

He hesitated before the kitchen door. It wasn't that he was forbidden to enter - being delivery boy made it hard to be banned from the kitchen - but rather that it felt like sacred ground, like the earth there was a sanctuary made specifically to ward him away. Even without going inside, he could feel the overwhelming sense of outward pressure coming from inside.

And he decided to completely ignore it. If he really wanted to break the ice, he had to keep trying, unfounded aversion to him or not. He pushed the door open, taking in a deep breath and holding himself high.

...Marco wasn't in the kitchen. Confused at first, Jean looked around, making sure Marco wasn't hidden behind a shelf or a stove, and he was about to give up when the door to the food storage flew open and an irate Jaeger stormed out, followed by an exasperated-looking Marco, rubbing the back of his neck.

"H-hey, Eren-" Jean started, only for Eren to shove him aside in a beeline out of the kitchen. Jean huffed, glowering at Eren as he hurried away. "The hell is his problem?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Marco grumbled, sounding tired as he sat slowly onto a stool nearby. 

Jean nearly had a heart attack at the sound of Marco's voice, having heard it so little. His train of thought paused for a moment as Marco gave a tired laugh, a soft, chime-like airy sound from the bottom of his lungs, and Jean realized he'd closed his eyes to listen, suddenly jolting himself out of his trance once he remembered he had a mission to accomplish.

"Hey, Marco."

Marco looked up at him, not bothering to stand, though Jean didn't mind. He looked at Jean with a careful, tense gaze, as if calculating something, and Jean almost froze again before forcing his hand out quickly and crudely, presenting Marco his invitation.

"I know you don't really like me, but it's my birthday on Saturday, and..." He felt himself turn red. "I would really, really appreciate it if you showed up, yeah?"

"I'll think about it," Marco said, pocketing the card without opening it.

"Please," Jean pleaded, "please really think about it. I mean, if nothing else, come for the free Chinese food, okay?"

"Maybe," Marco said, nodding. "Please get out of the kitchen, Jean, I need to work on orders."

"Oh!" Jean hadn't noticed the steadily growing line of order tickets near the stove, and he nodded in understanding. "No problem, man, I just wanted to give you the invite."

"Thanks," Marco mumbled, and Jean awkwardly shuffled backwards and ducked out of the kitchen, only for a short blonde girl to hurry past him, calling to Marco to ask what all still needed to be done. It was busy for a Monday, Jean thought to himself.

Bertholdt caught up with him, looking distressed.

"What up? Why the long face?" Jean said, trying to put a hand on Bertl's shoulder to calm him down but ending up awkwardly grabbing his arm.

"Did you get Eren his invitation?" He asked, hands visibly shaking.

"No, not yet. I just gave Marco his, though."

"I think something's wrong with him."

Jean snorted. "Well, duh, he's a little brat, what did you expect? I saw him stomping around earlier like always."

"No," Bertholdt said, looking scared. "No, he was crying when he left, and he didn't have any deliveries with him, I don't think." He closed his eyes, breathing slowly to calm himself. "I know you don't get along with him, but... I'm worried."

Jean groaned, looking around to see if Eren had darted off anywhere inside the building, to no avail. Bertholdt followed him closely, teeth worrying at his bottom lip, keeping an eye out for the missing delivery boy.

"Eren!" An irate blonde girl came bustling out of the kitchen with an order that made her tiny body look even tinier, her face scrunched into an expression of sour annoyance. "Eren?"

"He's missing," Jean said, rubbing the top of his head. "We were just looking for him."

The girl's expression suddenly became concerned, and she handed the order to Jean to free up her hands and help look for the boy.

"Hey," Jean said, stopping her and Bertholdt as they were about to hurry along. "I can take this, if you want. You guys can look for Jaeger."

"Thank you," she said, smiling at him and worriedly playing with her hair. "I'll let Marco know what's going on so he doesn't go looking for you."

Jean sighed, heading out to his car, hurriedly fumbling for his keys, muttering to himself about-

Someone was huddled in the corner near his car. Cautiously, Jean snuck around near his truck and brandished his keys as a weapon in case the mystery figure was a rabid animal or some sort of crook, as if a car key would do him any sort of good in a fight. Luckily for him, it was nothing of the sort.

"Jaeger?" Jean mused, recognizing the scraggly hair and short-sleeved work shirt. "Jaeger, dude, everyone's looking for you, so you should... uh..."

"Piss off," Eren snapped, curling closer in upon himself, looking an odd mix of angry and upset. Jean wondered how someone could look so mad while curled in a ball, but then again, this WAS Eren. Kid could look angry about anything.

Jean threw his hands up in a show of disinterest. "I'm just going to deliver stuff." He stepped back a few paces to get closer to his car, looking around to see if maybe Bertholdt or the girl had followed him outside. "You can stay there and be a baby about whatever all day, I'm just here to do my job. All right?"

He started unlocking his car, fully intending to leave Eren and forget about him, but no matter how much he willed himself to open his door, there was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that prevented him from moving, prevented him from just leaving Eren there in the corner. Jean closed his eyes and groaned to himself, cursing his inability to keep himself from caring.

Okay, he didn't really care about Eren's problems, that was a lie. The kid could handle himself. What Jean DID care about, however, was the fact that Eren's job was being shoved onto him and significantly impeding his attempts to convince Marco to come to his birthday party and subsequently be hit on. Jaeger was dicking up his game, and it had to stop, no matter what kind of man pain Eren was dealing with.

He spun around. Eren glared at him from his corner, eyes gleaming with apprehension, as if daring Jean to inch closer. Jean, however, was not intimidated by anyone shorter, younger, and more annoying than him, so Eren's death glare was ineffective.

"Hey," Jean started, kneeling down to Eren's level. "What's up, dude? Why are you hiding in a corner and pushing your job off on me, huh?"

"Why do you care?" Eren growled, eyes shooting daggers. 

"I just wanna talk about your feelings, man," Jean said in a fake singing voice. "Why do you think? You might be an annoying little dweeb, but you're freaking out my man Bertl, and that's not cool with me. Neither is hiding in a corner while everyone else does your job, by the way."

"I'm not hiding!" Eren hissed, lunging forward a bit to try and make Jean back off.

Jean wasn't falling for it. "Yeah? Sitting in a corner where no one can find you, curled up like a baby, that isn't hiding? Wow! I learn something new every day."

"Fuck off, asshole!" Eren shouted, tears forming in his eyes, his voice going hoarse. "All you do is wreck stuff. Aren't you good for anything else?"

"Whoa!" Jean snapped, standing up. "The fuck, dude? I've only known you for a week and already you're telling me I'm the reason you're being a shitty little prick?"

Eren stood up and grabbed Jean's collar, pulling his face down to meet his scowl. "I bet you've never woken up thinking you were dead, have you? I bet you've never had a fucking nightmare in your whole life, smug piece of shit you are. I was doing fine until you showed up and fucked everything up again!"

"What," Jean growled, pushing away and ripping himself out of Jaeger's grasp, "the fresh everloving fuck are you talking about? Are you accusing me of causing your fucking nightmares? That's all kinds of bullshit, and you know it!"

"Oh yeah? Why'd Bertl start having them again? Why did Marco start avoiding everybody when you showed up? I don't know what the fuck it is you're doing to us, but if you don't stop, I'll-"

"Eren!"

Jean and Eren turned to face a stern-looking man accompanied by Bertholdt and the girl from before, the two of them fidgeting as he stepped forward to confront the two quarreling delivery boys. 

Jean paled as he realized who it was. "D-doctor Jaeger!" He stammered, stepping a good foot away from Eren, trying his best to compose himself. 

"Dad, why are you-"

Dr. Jaeger sighed, adjusting his glasses. "You're not well enough to work today, I already told you that this morning."

"Dad, I'm fine! I just need to-"

The man sighed and led his disgruntled son away to talk to him in private, leaving the rest of the employees present in the parking lot to talk amongst themselves.

"Jean!"

Bertholdt approached him, looking concerned. "What's wrong, Jean? You look..."

"Confused?" Jean said, flashing a fake smile. "Upset? Offended? Yeah, I kind of am."

"What happened? Are you all right?"

Jean ran a hand through his hair and focused on his shoes for a moment before looking up to stare at Bertholdt's face. Had those bags always been there? Had those creases in his face from worry been that prominent the first time they met?

"It's nothing," Jean muttered, collecting his things and heading towards his car, remembering that he still had a job to do and standing around wouldn't hasten him any in doing it. "He had a bad dream or something, that's all."

As he left, he could have sworn he heard Bertholdt murmur in reply.

_"I sure hope it's nothing but a bad dream."_


End file.
